


Chateau Neug A-Choo

by executrix



Category: Blakes7
Genre: Gen, Original Characters Gnomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the B7 Friday prompt, "flowers." All pollen, no sex. Pardon me, boys!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chateau Neug A-Choo

“Put it up on the main screen, Zen,” Blake said. 

Avon shuddered. “That’s dreadful. I would have thought that after all these years, they’d have some standards. They’re letting the side down.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Vila said. “Only way people like me ever get in is serving little finger sandwiches in the tea tent.” 

“Glad you mentioned that, Vila!” Blake said. “That’ll be your cover, you see. You and Cally.”

“Urr?” Vila said. Cally nodded her agreement.

“Vila, you’ll be dressed as a workman carrying in the garden gnomes. Cally, you’ll make sure that the Neug People’s Liberation Front makes the pickup.”

“Blake, are you saying that you’re going to plant bombs at the Chateau Neug Flower Show?” Jenna asked, hands on hips.

“Blow up lots of ladies in chiffon dresses and big hats?” Vila asked miserably. 

“Certainly not! What do you take us for?” Blake demanded.

Avon’s choked cough was the sole response. 

“Datacubes,” Blake said. “Vital information that is far too sensitive to be sent by Tariel link.” Blake consulted his wristchron. “Right! Go ask Orac if the gnomes are ready for transport. Best hurry, you want them in place before the opening ceremony.”

Twenty minutes later, “Sentients, can you give me a shine?” issued in a booming baritone from one of the gnomes. (The one with curls of brown carpet fiber glued beneath its hat; Vila knew he hadn’t done it himself so he had his suspicions.) “This battered and dusty appearance is inconsistent with the elegance of the setting.” Vila was so surprised he almost dropped it. 

“You can talk?”

“The one known as Orac has installed a chip promoting proper completion of the mission,” it said. 

“Brilliant. Can’t go anywhere without getting a face-ache from a computer.”

Cally wanted to pat his shoulder but her arms were full. “Nearly there,” she said. “It’ll get better from here.”

A honeyed soprano told her that that was not a rigorous application of the data. 

Vila and Cally set down the gnomes and, as per plan, removed their bracelets. (“Keep them somewhere safe,” Blake had said, and Cally, who had recently learned the Terran idiom “where the sun don’t shine,” giggled.) Neug, a planet with few natural resources, relied on neugothermal energy, and the Chateau was located in a bunker far too deep for teleport. 

Also as per plan, there were numerous vehicles available for casual users. “Vila, do you actually know how to operate one of these?” Cally asked.

“Errrm,” Vila said. “Seen ‘em lots of times on the vizzies, though, how hard could it be?”

“According to Orac, vehicles in your viewing history tend to roll over multiple times and then explode,” the baritone gnome said. 

“Stupid question anyway,” the soprano said. 

Vila had already managed to get the door open, a little annoyed because it wasn’t locked. A viewer on the windscreen flashed on. “Welcome to RentaGreenKart,” mercifully in type and silent. The next screen gave two choices:  
• Driver Operated: Contraindicated except in cases of testosterone poisoning  
• AutoVehicle Operation.  
Vila selected the second, dumped his gnome ungently into the back seat, and waited for Cally to settle her gnome and herself. The third screen asked for Source of Payment. Vila frowned, then went through all the pockets of his outfit, luckily finding a credit card in the name of Levi Straal, much the same way one might find a few vems behind the couch cushions.

The drive, marked only by some sniping between the GPS and the gnomes about the optimal route, lasted only a few minutes, objectively.   
Holding up the gnomes to hide their faces from the scanners, Cally and Vila went to the employee entrance. Already the cacophony of fragrances made Cally’s nose twitch. By the time they got to the main hall, a vast glassed-in exhibition space lit by thousands of lights, her eyes were streaming from the allergens poured out by numerous species of flowers, not one of which had ever grown on Auron.

Security was unusually tight, because Supreme Commander Servalan, in gold-embroidered white chiffon and a shoulder-width straw hat, was opening the flower show and the associated Neug City Hutch Club purebred stock show. 

She squinted at the label and said brightly, “This…er…thing…has an intelligence rating higher than the average Federation trooper!” The muffled combination of grunts of outrage and sniggers reminded her that she was not at her best ad-libbing. 

“How many of them buggers *are* there?” asked Trooper Chaxlub.

“Nine,” replied Trooper Gacklen, grateful that he didn’t have to take off his boots or worse to answer.

“Manifest says there’s meant to be seven,” Chaxlub said.

“Yeh, but that’s never right, is it?” They heard a familiar shriek, and rushed to see what ailed the Supreme Commander *this* time. The local rebels saw their opportunity, strolled over, and reduced the gnome census back to its initial level.

Servalan’s sandaled foot had come down on something soft and warm. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out what it was; she had to lift her hem several inches to see the matching white rabbit beneath her skirt. She backed away, and it hopped off.

Vila had taken the time to open the hutch doors at the rabbit show (muttering, “Blake’s not the only one who can have ‘em”). Some of the pampered lagomorphs stayed put, knowing which side their chow was buttered on, but most of them opted for freedom. Many of them were hopping around the show floor. Others of them, being rabbits, were on the pull.

Cally anxiously scanned the hall; Vila was nowhere to be seen in the teeming crowds. 

“Glad it wasn’t worse,” Gacklen said, resuming his post. Then he stared at the row of gnomes, which now seemed to have a couple of gaps. “One…two…”

Cally debated whether she could risk using her teleport bracelet to summon Vila, decided against it, and proceeded as rapidly as she could while looking elegantly unconcerned. She thought the surveillance cameras would be concentrated at the center of the room, so she hugged the walls, gliding from one patch of shadow to the next. 

She thought she saw a glimpse of Vila’s light-brown hair and blue coveralls, twenty yards or so ahead. By the time she got there, she saw an open door to a corridor, and suspected he might have gone there. But first she was stopped by a trooper. “Badge and ident card,” he said.

“I’m here (sniff) to (sneeze) kick arse, take (sniff) names, and leave gar…gar…den gnomes!” Cally said wetly. “And I’m ALL OUT OF GARDEN GNOMES!” She launched herself at the trooper, kicking him in the solar plexus and then hammering his head on the ground. She realized that his helmet was in the way, so she removed the helmet and choked and pounded him into unconsciousness. Then she put on the helmet, grateful for the air filter. 

It turned out that her instincts had been correct: Vila was in the corridor, weaving his way among a few escaped rabbits. He stopped cold and stared at the strange hybrid figure: a slim body clad in flowered chintz, topped by a trooper’s helmet, with an ID badge around its neck.

Vila gulped, dropped into a fighting stance borrowed from Avon, and whispered, “What have you done with Cally?”

Cally shook her head, then said “It’s me!” and took off the helmet. “Here,” she said, handing the badge to Vila to put into a pocket in his coveralls, something her frock lacked.

“Bring me home,” Cally told her teleport bracelet.


End file.
